I've got a clutter of memories in an old drawer. Photographs and postcards, letters in longhand and typewriter sounds. Far away. Points in time. Shrouded in spider's web, covered in decades unholy dust. Someday I'll bring all that was me to a new order: sorted and stacked, those recollections. And with steely eye edit bad from the good. Pixels of time. Sanitize memories in computer scan and then off to hard drive, found and hidden with mouse's click. Better, I think, to leave things as they were always meant to be: this rendezvous with the past. Leave the spider's tale in peace. Leave me to be what I am.